


Broken

by Mohini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Domestic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one who lived through the second rise of Voldemort is a stranger to violence. That doesn't make it any easier to watch as the most volatile couple in the school have it out in the midst of yet another party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry looked up in alarm when he heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the wall of the common room. Draco Malfoy was being half held aloft by Blaise Zabini, his toes barely grazing the floor as the other boy pinned him to the wall with a hand around his throat. All activity in the packed room, filled with 7th and 8th year students and a copious supply of alcohol, came to a halt as everyone seemed drawn to the scene unfolding between the two boys.

                “Fucking slut,” Blaise was growling, as Draco struggled weakly against him. His face was turning purple as his oxygen was restricted by the hand around his throat. Pansy was smacking at Blaise, attempting to distract him but he was having none of it. When he swung an elbow back, catching Pansy in the face and flinging her to the ground, Harry grabbed his wand from his pocket and aimed a stunning hex at the tall boy’s back, hitting him squarely. He went limp immediately, and Draco tumbled to the floor, breathing in ragged gasps as he clutched at his throat, coughing and gagging.

                “Get him out of here,” Harry growled at Theo, who was closest to Blaise. “What the fuck was that about?” He asked the others as he shoved past them, kneeling in front of Draco, who was curled up in a fetal position on the floor, tears pouring from his eyes as he struggled to breathe. Harry cursed himself for not knowing more healing magic and cast a stasis charm to at least prevent the already obvious bruising from swelling his throat further. “Someone go find Hermione! She’s up in the dorm with Ron,” he ordered, seeing Daphne scramble away to comply as Pansy dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch Draco.

                “Help’s coming, Draco. You’ll be okay,” Harry said softly, listening for the sound of Hermione’s approach. The panic in the other boy’s eyes was enough to make Harry want to kill Zabini. He knew that the two Slytherins had a volatile relationship, but after what he had just seen, he suspected that there was only one aggressor. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard her heels clicking away as she ran down the stairs, coming to a halt just beside them.

                “What the fuck?” she asked, and Harry barely registered that she was wearing Ron’s uniform shirt and not much else.

                “Zabini. Choked him.  I cast a stasis on him, but there’s a lot of damage and I don’t know how to fix it,” Harry explained quickly. Hermione nodded, casting a quick diagnostic charm and beginning a series of unfamiliar incantations as she pointed her wand at Draco’s bruised neck. Harry watched as the mark began to fade and listened in relief as Draco’s breathing eased. Hermione lifted the stasis charm after a few minutes, when she was satisfied that her spellwork had done its job. As soon as the stasis charm was off, Draco put a hand up to his neck, feeling gingerly where there had been deep bruises a few minutes before.

                He stared at Harry with wide eyes. Harry looked back, keeping eye contact as he reached out to help him sit up. Draco flinched at the contact when Harry touched him, but allowed the assistance. Harry heard Hermione mutter a muffliato charm before she spoke. “You’ve got a half dozen cracked ribs, Draco. None of them are from tonight and you’ve got a few that are healed but not very well. You’ve got a glamour hiding a black eye and bruises on both your arms. Any chance you’d like to tell us what the fuck is happening to you?” It was odd to hear the calm, businesslike voice cataloguing a list of injuries, but Hermione was never one to mince words.

                Draco looked back at her with all the color drained out of his face. “Nothing I didn’t deserve,” he whispered. Harry had never heard him sound so defeated. A childhood filled with beatings at the hands of Vernon Dursley left him with no doubt that Draco very much believed his own words, though. Harry could remember being certain that he was doing something wrong that was causing his uncle to knock him around every chance he got. Harry looked pointedly at Hermione. She flicked her wand at Draco, casting the necessary healing charms to fix the injuries she had just catalogued. Draco flinched, but made so sound. Then she stood and walked away.

                Draco was still sitting on the floor, every inch of his skinny body trembling. The circle of people around them was beginning to come to life with whispers and louder conversations, and Draco looked like he was going to either cry or vomit. Despite their tentative truce after the war, they weren’t exactly friends, but Harry couldn’t just walk away. Their eyes met for a second, and the decision was made without thinking. He moved forward and wrapped his arms around the shaking boy, hauling him into his lap and shielding him physically from the curious stares. Harry looked up for a moment, and once he found the person he was looking for, he spoke sharply. “Finnegan! Go get me a bottle of vodka. I’ll pay you back later, mate.” The tall Irishman practically ran for crates containing the liquor stash, returning a short while later with a bottle of clear muggle alcohol. He handed it over and Harry opened it quickly. “Easier to get down than firewhiskey,” he told Draco, not sure if he was familiar with muggle alcohol.  Still shaking, Draco drank several shots worth before Harry pulled the bottle away for him to breathe.

                Draco brought a shaking hand to it, wrapping his fingers around the glass neck and bringing it to his lips again. He had finished more than half the bottle after a few minutes. Harry watched him, hoping that the drink would be potent enough to calm him. He could feel every muscle in Draco’s body tensed, and yet he made no move to get out of Harry’s lap. They sat there on the floor of the common room, as the party continued on around them. It took Draco a grand total of half an hour to finish the pint bottle of vodka, placing it carefully on the floor and looking up at Harry with slightly unfocused eyes. “You know you’re going to wind up babysitting me now you’ve got me trashed, Potter,” he drawled. Harry nodded.

                “If it means I won’t have to see Zabini knocking the shit out of you again, I’ll babysit you anytime, Draco.” Harry said, deliberately using his first name. Big grey eyes stared back at him, realization dawning in that way that is only possible when one is very, very drunk.

                “Fuck,” Draco whispered. “Everyone saw that.” Then he ducked his head, pressing his face against Harry’s chest. “Get me out of here, please,” he asked. Harry nodded, hauling him to his feet and half dragging him to the stairs and up to the dorms. Once they were out of sight of the common room, Harry gave up on the fairly useless effort of keeping Draco on his feet and scooped him up into an awkward cradle hold. Draco was shaking again, his breathing shallow and Harry knew he was fighting tears with everything he had.

                Once Harry made it into his room, he kicked the door closed behind him and silently warded the door against anyone trying to come in. He thanked anything that was listening for Mad Eye’s insistence that he learn wandless and silent warding spells. He sat Draco down on the bed, where he promptly drew his long limbs up against his chest and laid his face on his knees, arms clutched around his legs. Harry sat beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder so that he knew he was there. He didn’t speak as Draco cried, not a sound escaping the other boy in a display that confirmed for Harry that Draco had been punished for tears just as he had.  It didn’t take Draco long to settle back down. Drunk or not, he was a Malfoy, and it had been drilled into him from toddlerhood that Malfoys do not lose control.

                He was quiet and still for a long while, and Harry thought he might have gone to sleep when he spoke. “Potter, I think I’m going to be sick.”

                Harry grabbed him and hauled him into the tiny adjoining bathroom, setting him down in front of the toilet and kneeling beside him as Draco gripped the rim with white knuckles. He was taking deep breaths, his stomach in knots and the rising nausea growing steadily worse. Blaise nearly always hit him if he got sick from drinking, saying it ruined him for sex. Even though he knew Blaise was nowhere near him, he automatically fought his body’s response to far too much liquor.  Harry ran a hand lightly up and down his spine, keeping his presence known. Draco’s body tensed up repeatedly, and he had his forehead against the backs of his hands, panting into the toilet and swallowing convulsively. A veteran of plenty of beatings in retaliation for childhood illnesses, Harry realized what Draco was doing in an instant. “Draco,” Harry said quietly. “Relax. You’ve got to calm down. You’ll feel better after you’re done, okay? You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. Just let it happen.” He coaxed him, reaching up to smooth Draco’s hair away from his face. He held it back in a messy imitation of a ponytail.

                “Fuck,” Draco whimpered. Then a shudder ran through his body and he was heaving, bringing up the vodka he had just consumed, along with the mead and various other drinks he had downed at the party. The firewhiskey he had started the night with burned horribly, and he found himself trying to focus on the calming presence of someone willing to take care of him in an effort to keep his panic at bay. Harry continued rubbing his back, occasionally reaching over him to flush the toilet as Draco gasped for breath between heaves. When he was finished, Harry eased him off the toilet to rest against his own chest, not sure that leaving the bathroom was a good idea just yet but knowing that spending more time hunched over the toilet bowl was not going to help Draco feel any better.

                Draco was practically ragdoll limp against him, whimpering occasionally about the room spinning and telling Harry each time he felt like he was going to vomit again. They spent more than an hour sitting in the bathroom, with Draco lurching away from Harry to clutch the toilet again and again. Each time, he collapsed back against him, mumbling about being a worthless idiot and a number of other epithets that had Harry ready to kill Draco’s father, boyfriend, and whomever else had taken the haughty, spoiled brat and turned him into a broken mess. When it had been a decent length of time since his last retching episode, Harry pulled Draco to his feet, supporting most of his weight as he led him to the bed. He managed to get him tucked under the covers, then stretched out himself next to him. Knowing that Draco probably wouldn’t remember much when he woke up, Harry took care to keep himself on top of the covers, providing a physical barrier between them, even if it was fairly pathetic. Draco began to cry again, and Harry reached out to hold him. He was surprised when Draco came to him easily, clutching him and crying into his shoulder, tears soaking the material of his shirt.

                The pull of alcoholic haze and exhaustion from the healing spells eventually had Draco passed out asleep on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry found himself watching him as he slept. Even in sleep, Draco didn’t seem to be able to relax, his brow wrinkled and occasional whimpers escaping him. Harry stroked his hair, trying to soothe the sleeping boy in his arms until sleep claimed him as well.

                Draco woke with a pounding head and a churning stomach sometime shortly after dawn. He knew right away that he was not in his bed, but he wasn’t sure where exactly he was. Someone was holding him, but the arms around him weren’t pinning him down, and he was fully clothed. He opened his eyes and realized that he was being held by Harry Potter and the night came crashing back into focus. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, shaking his head as if that would make it all go away. Unfortunately all that did was make his head hurt more and his stomach begin to threaten more urgently. Terror seized him as he realized that he was going to vomit, and soon.

                “Harry, gonna be sick,” he whined, hoping the other boy was a light sleeper because he was very afraid he wouldn’t make it to the bathroom without help. Harry was awake immediately, looking at him and not needing any explanation when he saw Draco’s ashen face.

                “Come on,” he told the skinny blonde, getting him to his feet quickly and managing to maneuver him into the bathroom and over the toilet just as Draco began to be violently sick. Harry held him steady, keeping his hair out of his face and his shaking body upright. When he was finished, Draco collapsed against the toilet, humiliated and struggling not to cry. Harry pulled a flannel from the cabinet and wet it at the sink, kneeling to wipe Draco’s face, politely ignoring the way the other boy was biting his lip and screwing his eyes shut to hold in tears.

                “Do you want to go back to bed or should we stay in here for a bit?” Harry asked him. Draco thought for a moment, managing to get his emotions back under control before he spoke.

                “Why are you taking care of me? You’re the one who stopped him, aren’t you?” he asked. Harry nodded in response and Draco continued. “Why? It’s not like you’ve any interest in what happens to me.”

                “Because I’ve been on the receiving end of enough of that shit myself and I’m not going to sit around and watch you get hurt.” Harry answered simply. Draco stared back with wide eyes. Harry wondered if he had said something wrong when Draco lurched away to lean over the toilet again, gasping and heaving without anything coming up. Harry instinctively rubbed his back, his fingers pressing gently as he traced small circles along Draco’s shoulders and spine.

                “Fucking hurts,” Draco moaned between retching episodes. Harry kept rubbing his back, quietly reassuring him it would be over soon. When his empty stomach settled back down, Draco pressed himself against Harry, tears running down his face as he tried unsuccessfully to stop them.

                “I’ve got you,” Harry whispered, his lips so close to Draco’s ear that he could feel the breath ghosting across his skin. The words brought back an echo of another night with Harry’s arms around him, held tightly on a broom above a raging fire. Draco’s fragile hold on his dignity was lost as the memory came crashing down on him. Harry gently turned him around so that he was holding him properly, gentle hands wiping the tears from his face. “Let it out,” he told him softly. “I’ve got you, you’re going to be okay.”

                They sat on the cold floor of Harry’s tiny bathroom for ages, Draco sniffling and bawling in a display that would have had his father in a screaming rage. Draco was pretty sure he hadn’t cried like that since he was a very little kid, and when he calmed, exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Harry whispered soft reassurances, letting him cry without judgment or shame for the first time he could remember.  Something vital shifted between them as Harry held him, and Draco clung to him, somehow afraid to let go of the person he had always assumed hated him. When Draco was calm again, feeling hollow and dried out from the crying and the vomiting, he looked at Harry as if he was seeing him for the first time.

                “Don’t let me go back,” he whispered. Harry didn’t need an explanation. He leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Draco’s lips, earning a shocked gasp and widened eyes.

                “I won’t. I stopped hating you a long time ago, and if you’ll let me, I rather like to find out if we’re better with one another than fighting all the time,” Harry told him. Draco didn’t know how to respond to that, so he wrapped his arms around Harry and held on tightly, hoping that was answer enough. “Let’s get you back to bed,” Harry told him. “You’ve barely slept and the spells Mione cast were strong enough to knock a hippogriff on its ass for a week.”

                Draco let him pull him to his feet and was content to be led back to bed, tucked in under the covers and welcomed into the comfort of the arms of one person who he could actually trust not to harm him. Harry couldn’t sleep, but he stayed still so that Draco drifted off easily, before slipping Draco off his shoulder and onto the pillow. He sat next to him, knowing that the other boy would be frightened at best and furious at worst if he woke to find himself alone. Harry did the only thing he could think of to try to keep his mind off what he had seen the previous night and summoned his textbooks to revise for the NEWTs that were looming before him.

                They stayed there most of the day, Draco sleeping fitfully and Harry working his way through his schoolbooks. Around noon, Ron and Hermione came pounding on the door. The sound woke Draco, who grabbed Harry in his half awake state and refused to let go. Harry ended up yelling through the door that he was fine and would see them later, a panicked bundle of blonde Slytherin shaking in his arms. Harry had been through enough panic attacks of his own to know what was happening, and managed to get an arm free to grab his wand and summon a calming draught. He got it into Draco, who shuddered and whimpered against him until he fell back asleep.

                When Draco woke around dinnertime, he found that for the first time in months, he could take a breath without the painful constriction caused by the ever present fractured ribs. He pulled himself into a sitting position and was both surprised and pleased when Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders and asked how he was feeling.

                “You do know Blaise isn’t going to give up without a fight,” Draco told him, awake and clear headed enough to remember what had happened the night before.

                “I survived Voldemort,” Harry said flippantly. “Fairly certain Zabini isn’t going to be much of a problem.”

                “Arrogant, much?” Draco asked, surprising himself by engaging in the familiar banter with someone he had rarely spoken a civil word to and was now being held by.

                “Learned from the best,” Harry replied, leaning over and planting a kiss on Draco’s cheek. “You hungry? We missed the first two meals while you were sleeping off half a bar’s worth of alcohol and Hermione’s healing charms.”

                The reminder of how much he had consumed had Draco placing one hand across his stomach, which was still quite sore. Seeing this, Harry held him a bit closer. “Not up to food yet?” he asked quietly. Draco shook his head, the thought making him queasy. “No problem. Will you be okay if I have one of the house elves bring me something? Or would it be better for me to go down to the meal and leave you up here?”

                Draco didn’t manage to answer before a wave of nausea hit him that had him bolting for the bathroom, a hand clamped over his mouth. Harry was right behind him, grabbing his upper arms to steady him as he vomited harshly. He pillowed his head against his forearms when he was finished, breathing in shallow, panting breaths and hoping his stomach would settle. His throat was still raw from the night before. Sober now and very aware of what was happening, he was nervous about having Harry taking care of him, worrying about what sort of payment was going to be expected and when. Still, he found that he couldn’t put up more than a token bit of resistance when Harry tugged him back against his chest, and Draco leaned his head back to rest on Harry’s shoulder as the other boy wiped his face with a cool, damp flannel from the sink.

                When he was sure he wasn’t going to be sick again, Draco let Harry help him to his feet and stumbled back to bed, curling up in a ball beneath the covers and closing his eyes. Harry pulled up the covers and retrieved a phial of hangover potion from his trunk. Draco refused it, afraid to put anything in his stomach. “I’ll be back in a bit,” Harry told him, laying a cool cloth on his forehead and setting a bucket beside the bed. Draco nodded, not wanting to be alone but knowing that Harry needed something to eat. “I won’t go far, just down to the common room. I’ll ward the door behind me, okay?” Tired, sad eyes looked back up at him.

                Closing the door and walking away knowing that Draco was feeling like hell was one of the more difficult things Harry had done in a while. He made his way to the common room and summoned Kreacher, his elderly house elf for a few sandwiches from the kitchens. He ate quickly and returned to his room, finding Draco asleep again, the still stoppered hangover potion on the bedside table.  He decided that if he was still sick the following morning, it would be worth arguing over, but for now it seemed best to just let Draco try to sleep it off.

                A very concerned Hermione showed up shortly after dinner, and once more Harry assured her he was fine, this time opening the door enough for her to see the sleeping boy in his bed. Hermione looked at Harry for a moment before shaking her head. “Saving people again, Harry?” she asked. He shrugged.

                “Nah. Just making up for lost time,” he replied. She smiled at him and left, telling him that she was going to sell tickets for whenever he planned to explain this one to Ron. Harry hadn’t really thought about how that was going to go over, and found he didn’t much care. Sober and thinking clearly, he still felt an inexplicable pull towards Draco, and knew it went deeper than his much touted savior issues.

                Draco woke up again a while later, and asked Harry for some water. Harry fetched a tumbler from the bathroom and sat with him while he took cautious sips. “Haven’t felt this shitty in a while,” Draco remarked, when he put the mostly full tumbler back on the table.

                “Half my fault,” Harry told him. “Poured a pint of vodka in you after, well... Didn’t think to ask how much you’d already had.”

  
                “I doubt I would have told you, to be honest,” Draco answered. “I owe you for that, you know. I think I remember you casting a stasis on me. How bad was it?” He didn’t really want to know, but felt like he should. He had gotten into some serious fights with Blaise before and always ended up going back. For once, he knew he didn’t want to and needed to be sure he was choosing the right thing this time.

                “He damn near crushed your throat. You couldn’t breathe and I’m not that good with healing charms. Mione got you sorted, though. How much else do you remember? You were utterly trashed by the time we came up here.”

                “You carried me up the stairs. I’m pretty sure I had a hell of a drunken breakdown, and I remember you holding me in the bathroom for ages. Beyond that, not much before this morning. You kissed me. This morning, I mean. Damn, this is fucking awkward. I’m going to blame this entirely on the worst hangover of my life, okay. Did you seriously say you wanted me? I’m damaged goods, but if you’re willing, I’m yours.”

                “Fucking awkward is right,” Harry told him, looking carefully at him, trying to read the expression on his face. “Damaged or not, I want you.” His answer came in the form of a lapful of skinny blonde, who was apparently channeling his inner Hufflepuff in a bone crushing hug.

                “So, just to get the awkward emotional crap behind us, you are actually willing to be seen with me? As a couple?”

                “Yes,” Harry told him. “And I am more than willing to hex Zabini into the next century if he gives me one little reason.”

                Draco laughed at that, and kissed Harry softly. Pulling away, he looked into his eyes for a moment. “In all seriousness, he’s probably too afraid of you to try anything. Everyone is. Not that you’d notice.”

                “Ah, yes, scary fucking chosen one. Defeated Dark Lord with yet another stroke of luck, while I watched my friends lay down their lives for me. Yup, really fucking scary,” Harry muttered, trying not to growl.

                 “Well then, terrifying one, shall we go out and see who we can scare in the common room now? Before anyone decides we’ve managed to kill one another up here?” Draco asked. Harry took the attempt at soothing for what it was, and forced himself to calm. He grasped Draco’s hand and the two walked out of the room together.


	2. Two

 

                Blaise Zabini had the good sense not to try anything with Harry.  He was sitting in the corner of the common room, head buried in a textbook and very obviously not looking anywhere near Harry and Draco. Ron Weasley, however, had left his good sense elsewhere for the day. He had greeted Harry upon his entry to the room with a vulgar question about Draco’s bedroom performance and things had gone downhill from there. They had been screaming at one another for the better part of ten minutes when Ron drew his wand. Positioning himself instantly as a human shield, Harry had Draco safely pressed against his back, a shield up before anyone else had a chance to react. He vaguely heard Hermione screaming at the both of them, and then Neville was beside him, wand raised and leveled at Ron.

                “Back off, Ron,” Neville growled out, and it was clear that absolutely nothing remained of the mousy, fearful boy who had come to Hogwarts their first year.

                Ron muttered something about shirt lifting whores, just before he crumpled to the ground.  Harry looked around for the source of the spell that had dropped him. He found his answer in Hermione, wand aloft and face grimly set. “I did not come back to school to watch fucking duels in my fucking common room,” she said as she replaced her wand in the forearm carrier she had returned to school wearing. She knelt beside Ron and whispered something in his ear before releasing the stunning charm she had used.

                Draco twisted away from Harry’s back and grabbed him by one hand, the move graceful enough to provide a good distraction for the trembling of his fingers. He walked quickly out of the common room, pulling Harry along beside him. Once in the corridor, he headed for the nearest stairway and before Harry had a chance to consider where they were going Draco was pacing in front of a blank section of wall on the seventh floor. A small, ornate door appeared after a moment, and Draco opened it, still towing Harry behind him into a small room, completely empty of anything but a cabinet in one corner.

                The moment the door closed, Harry watched as Draco seemed to almost melt. Within seconds, he was crouched on the floor, knees to his chest and arms wrapped firmly around his shins. Harry dropped down beside him, unsure of what to do. He watched as blunt nails dug into the skin of Draco’s forearms, the skin blanching at the force of his grip. Draco sat utterly still in his crouched position, the only sound his rapid breathing.

                Harry wanted to gather him in his arms and hold him until the panic faded from his eyes. He wanted to somehow undo the idiotic reaction of someone he had considered his closest friend until mere moments before. He reached forward and Draco’s hand shot out, batting his arm away as he shook his head. “Don’t touch me,” he growled. Harry backed away by a few feet, close enough for Draco to reach for him if he wanted, but far enough not to be a threat.

                Harry was no stranger to panic attacks and from the deliberately slowing cadence of his measured breathing, neither was Draco. Time trickled by in that small, windowless room as Harry watched Draco gradually regain control of himself. When he finally looked up, Harry was half shocked to see that there was absolutely no emotion visible in his eyes.

                Draco waved one hand and the cabinet in the corner opened, a small phial shooting across the room and into his palm. He uncorked it and swallowed the contents immediately, them set it on the floor and waved his hand over it once more. The phial vanished.  “Morpheum,” Draco said softly. Harry recognized the name of the potent opiate. He had heard Molly talking about it over the summer, largely in reference to George’s overindulgence in the potion.

                “It’s alright,” Draco told him. “I’m good now. Just had a little moment, right?”

                Harry just stared at him. Draco’s eyes were slightly unfocused, and though he was very still, Harry could see that his hands were trembling the tiniest bit. He scooted a little closer to Draco, and watched as he flinched. “Come here,” Harry told him, and after a moment of slowly shaking his head back and forth, Draco moved toward him and let Harry wrap his arms around him. Even with the drug in his system, he couldn’t quite shake the lingering panic.

                “I’ll be fine,” Draco whispered, almost more to himself than to Harry.

                Harry didn’t answer, running a hand up and down his back instead. His fingertips grazed the ribs and backbone that stood out just a bit too prominently. Gradually, Draco relaxed against him, still repeating his quiet mantra. Harry wasn’t sure if he even knew he was speaking, so he let him babble, holding him gently and waiting to see what was going to come of it.

                When Draco quieted, Harry found that he had either gone to sleep or passed out. Harry didn't have much experience with anything stronger than a calming draught or the gillyweed that Neville often passed around. He wasn’t sure if dozing off like this was the Morpheum or just Draco’s reaction to calming down after what had clearly been one hell of a panic. The floor was hard and a bit cold beneath him, and he eventually began actively thinking of the need for a softer surface. A moment later, a plush sofa was in the room. Careful not to disturb Draco, he cast a lightening charm and carried him to the sofa, sitting down with him settled against his chest. It felt odd, holding a sleeping Draco as though he were an infant in arms and Harry wasn’t at all certain if he liked it. Draco’s breathing was too slow, his body too still. Harry found his hand drifting to the pulse point at Draco’s throat, not really sure of what he was looking for. Draco whimpered in his sleep when he pressed down, and Harry moved his hand away, shushing him as he had baby Teddy over the summer.

                Draco slept the better part of an hour, waking slowly and blinking up at Harry in confusion. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees as he curled into a defensive position next to Harry.

                “It’s alright,” Harry told him, gently pulling one clenched hand into his own. “You had a bit of a panic attack, I think. How do you feel now?”

                “Stupid,” Draco answered without hesitation. It wasn’t exactly what Harry had expected to hear and he raised one eyebrow, hoping for clarification. Draco obliged. “Not like this was going to work, right? Too fucking easy. You should go on back to the dorm, set things right with Weasley. I’ll not bother you again.”

                Harry looked at him in disbelief. He had certainly gotten an education over the last few days about how broken Draco had become. He had not realized that he had apparently given up on having any worth at all. “Draco, you did hear me when I told Ron to mind his own business, right?”

                Draco nodded, his eyes focused on some invisible point on the sofa.

                “So, that actually means that I’m not up for his prejudice dictating who I can be with. I’m not planning to kick you to the curb just because it gets under his skin that I’m not going to go off and marry Ginny and have a dozen red headed babies. She’s lacking certain vital accessories for that to appeal to me,” Harry continued, hoping the attempt at levity would break Draco out of his funk. Instead, he continued to stare at the sofa. Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, Draco yielded instantly, practically going limp at the touch.

                Harry was a veteran of enough rounds of purposeful submission in an effort to keep Vernon’s fists away from him to know what he was seeing. “Talk to me,” he said quietly. “I’m not going to know what you need unless you tell me.”

                Draco shook his head, eyes clenched tight as he took several long breaths, considering every option before speaking. “I don’t have answers for you,” he whispered, afraid that his voice would break if he spoke any louder.

                “We’ll learn together, then,” Harry said, keeping one arm around Draco to support him and placing his free hand against Draco’s thin fingers. Draco turned then, burying his face in Harry’s neck and clinging tightly to the offered hand. He didn’t cry, too many years of keeping himself in check no matter what provided adequate security against tears. Instead, he held onto Harry and shook, struggling to breathe evenly. “I’ve got you,” Harry repeated, holding him close and having enough sense not to try to push for more conversation.

                They had been there for quite some time when Harry noticed that it was nearing curfew. He told Draco they needed to head back to the dorms. Draco nodded, but made no move to get up. Harry eventually stood with him still in arms, keeping a grip on him to hold him upright. He led him back to the dormitory, through the now empty common room, and up to his room. He considered briefly that Draco might want to sleep in his own bed, but one look at the pale, exhausted boy beside him changed his mind. He tucked Draco into the bed, curled up around him, and fell asleep with Draco in his arms. He hoped that by morning, they would be able to talk without sending him into another bout of panic.


End file.
